


Now That You're Human

by sonofabitch_awesome



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean is a Softie, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Human Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, actually dean is a bit of a pansy here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 06:11:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3317105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonofabitch_awesome/pseuds/sonofabitch_awesome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel gets mildly injured on a routine salt-and-burn. Dean doesn't deal with it well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now That You're Human

**Author's Note:**

> Might be my first fic where Cas actually _doesn't_ push Dean against a wall. I think I wrote this 50% for that reason - to see if I could get away from the wall thing. (Doesn't happen in any of my ADIEY fics that I have up, but it has happened twice in future ones.)

**Now That You're Human**

The second time Dean shoots at the ghost, it flickers out of existence long enough for Sam to get the lighter ready. Out of the corner of his eye, he’s vaguely aware of Sam clicking the lighter once, twice, four times total before the fire catches, and then there’s the _whoosh_ of the remains going up.

Dean drops his gun and throws himself across the warehouse, falling twice in his rush. He gives up the second time—he’s almost there anyway—and settles for scrabbling to the unmoving form lying near a wall. “Cas. _Cas_!” he calls, desperate, heart practically bouncing against the inside of his ribs. “Castiel!”

Cas is sprawled on his stomach, facing away from him. Dean reaches his body and twists him over onto his back. Blood streaks the left side of his face, and Cas’s eyes are shut. “Cas!” he yells again, his voice breaking.

Flames crackle somewhere off to the side. He can hear Sam sighing, relieved the danger’s past.

Dean’s having a horrifying flashback to the time Cas had absorbed the souls, the time right after releasing them again when he’d collapsed, _dead_ … except somehow not, waking back up, against impossible events.

Until.

Until that tiny little bit of hope Dean had was shattered ( _melted_ ) beyond repair, dripping black and brutal into the water and leaving nothing behind but a dirty tren—

“ _Cas_!” Dean all but screams, one hand on the right side of Cas’s face and one hand on his left upper arm. “Come on now, don’t—”

Sam’s here now, the fire must be finished enough to leave alone. “Dean—”

“Don’t fucking say anything,” Dean cuts him off, cradling his other palm against Cas’s face despite all the blood.

Ignoring Dean entirely, Sam leans in and presses two fingers to the hollow of Cas’s throat. “He has a pulse,” he says. “And I can see him breathing. Both good signs.”

Dean can’t answer, his gaze locked to Cas’s face. So much fucking blood… And he can see the beginnings of a massive bruise already forming down Cas’s temple. The bags under his friend’s eyes are so much more pronounced now that he’s human…

“Dean,” Sam starts. "We really gotta go. We made a lot of noise here tonight, so—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean answers, trying to focus. He nods. “Okay.”

“Do you want help with him, o—”

“No,” Dean grunts, carefully lifting Cas’s motionless form into his arms and then staggering to his feet. Frighteningly, Cas’s head lolls back, exposing the stubbled skin of his neck and throat. Dean adjusts his hold as they walk out of the warehouse, Sam opening all of the doors ahead of his brother.

“Dean, are you sure you don’t want he—”

“I said I got him!” Dean snaps, annoyed at the way his arms are shaking. And that Sam noticed. Anxiety curls heavy in his stomach, like a gun without bullets—pointless and inconvenient.

Cas is _going_ to be okay. This is _not_ history repeating itself.

Sam reaches the Impala first and opens the back door, then helps Dean carefully lay Cas out on the back seat. Dean doesn’t really have a lot of room to sit in the back with him, so he gets into the shotgun seat and then proceeds to spend the entire way back to the Bunker staring at Cas. He’s transfixed by Cas’s breathing, the fluttering of his wrist’s pulse as he checks it every thirty seconds.

“Dean,” Sam says after a few minutes, glancing over. “Relax. Are _you_ breathing?”

“I’m _fine_ , Sammy, just drive.” Fuck. Fucking hell. _Why_ had they agreed to bring Cas on this hunt?

What the hell had they been thinking? _He’s human now._ Fragile. Non self-healing. Under- _trained_ , for fuck’s sake; although they had made him spend time in the shooting gallery and had coached him on hand-to-hand combat, there is so much more they could have been working on before test-driving things.

“Cas, please be okay,” Dean whispers brokenly. “Plea—” He’s cut off by a small exhalation of breath, a low vocalization dragging over unused vocal cords. “Cas?”

Cas rolls from his side to his back, groaning a little as he stares up at the roof of the car. “The ghost?” he finally manages.

“Taken care of,” Sam tells him. “Salted and burned the body.”

Cas coughs. “Good.” His eyes drift shut again.

“You, uh, you doing okay back there?” Dean can’t stop staring.

“Yes. Give me a minute,” Cas says, falling silent again.

Dean’s having a hard time breathing. He’s having a hard time with this, period. Cas being human, Cas being vulnerable, Cas being hurt.

Sam looks over again. “He’s gonna be okay, Dean,” he says gently. 

“I know, I know,” Dean says, but his voice cracks on the second “know.”

 

-

 

Back at the Bunker, Dean brings Cas into his bedroom and helps him lie flat on the memory foam mattress. Sam goes off to get first aid stuff and Dean drags his chair closer to watch over Cas. 

“You really think he’s gonna be okay?” Dean asks quietly when Sam brings him a beer, a damp washcloth, and bandages. “Should we have just taken him to the hospital?”

“I am awake. I can hear you,” Cas cuts in without opening his eyes, curled almost on his side and turned toward Dean. “And I’m fine. Though I’ve been… better,” he admits after a moment.

Dean and Sam both laugh quietly, more expressions of relief than anything else. “I bet,” Dean says finally. “That was quite a hit you took.” He leans back in his seat and runs his free hand down his face.

“So, do you need anything? You want me to go get you something to eat? Drink?” Sam asks. He’s leaning back against the wall by Dean’s door, arms crossed. 

Cas opens his eyes, rolling flat to look over at Sam and shake his head. “No. I’m good. Thanks, though. I appreciate it.” His gaze flickers back to Dean for a moment. 

“Okay. Well, yell if you need anything,” Sam says. “I’m gonna go get something started for dinner. Dean, you need anyth—” 

“No,” Dean interrupts, more brusquely than he meant to, staring at Cas. “Later, maybe.” 

“All right, then,” Sam says, pushing himself up off the wall. “You rest, Cas, all right? I’m glad you’re okay.” 

Cas sighs heavily. “Thank you, Sam,” he smiles. 

Sam nods as he leaves, pulling the door firmly shut behind him. 

Dean scoots even closer to the bed. “So. Cas. How are you, really?” 

“Well, my… head hurts, and I—” Cas breaks off, scrubbing the heel of his hand against the blood on his cheek and temple. “Dammit,” he rasps. 

Dean ignores the bottle of beer sitting on the side table and retrieves the washcloth. “Here, I got it.” But he can’t quite reach Cas from this angle, so he just gives up and sits on the edge of the bed as he works. “You really kind of… uh, scared us both there,” he manages after a while as he wipes down at the drying and oozing blood.

Cas rolls his eyes. “It was not on purpose,” he says wryly. “I had no intention of being flung into a wall so hard that I lost a couple of minutes.”

“More like ten,” Dean corrects, carefully swiping. Or at least that’s what it had felt like. The blood is mostly gone now; the culprit a couple of short but fairly deep gouges along Cas’s temple from the jagged edges of the wall.

Cas watches him carefully, concerned. “You were worried.”

Dean scoffs, but the fact of the matter is that his heart is _still_ going a bit too fast. “Um. Well, yeah, I…” He swallows and sets the washcloth to the side. He dabs some antibiotic cream on a gauze pad, placing it gently over the gashes.

As he peels off a strip of medical tape, he notices that Cas’s gaze never leaves him. “Dean…” he says, simply and easily.

Dean works quickly, affixing the medical tape to the gauze to hold it in place. “Cas, I…” He takes a deep breath. Fuck. He feels this, he _knows_ he feels it, but goddamn if he has trouble with the words, even now. Dean peels one more strip of tape. Licks his lips and tries again while running the tape over the gauze, then cradling Cas’s jaw in his hand. “You know… Cas, you know I…” _Fuck_.

Lines crinkle at the corner of Cas’s eyes as he smiles with great affection. “It’s okay, Dean,” he tells him. “I love you, too.”

Dean pulls away to set the first-aid stuff on the side table. “Scoot over a little,” he says, standing to drop his pants. Cas obliges, moving onto his side as he slides over to give Dean room. Dean peels off his Henley, and then pulls the covers down to climb in wearing boxers and the T he’d been using as an undershirt.

They’re face to face, both lying on their sides. “Are _you_ all right?” Cas asks him, blue eyes intense and searching.

Dean nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m not the one who used his head as a brake pad—”

“ _Dean_.” Cas looks straight into him, refusing to take his bullshit.

Busted. Dean rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. “Kinda still a little freaked,” he admits, exhaling slowly. “You’re… I don’t know, I worry about you now that you’re human.”

A hand travels over and rubs in calm slow circles over his chest. “I’m okay,” Cas reassures him. “You’re forgetting that _you_ both are human too, and I worry about you as much now as I ever did.”

Dean looks at Cas out of the corner of his eyes. This is true enough; for some reason he’s never considered the other side of things. When Cas was an angel, he could literally be stabbed – _with a knife that killed demons, no less_ – and grin back like it was part of foreplay. Automatically, Dean’s gaze flicker to the spot on Cas’s chest where the complete lack of a scar would be if he had his shirt off. 

Dean reaches for the still-stroking hand over his shirt and holds on. Everything that could hurt Castiel now could hurt ( _has hurt_ ) himself and Sam both in the past. Cuts, bruises, broken bones, even actually dying. Hell, more than 100 times in Dean’s case, according to Sam. And he’s no worse for the wear.

Realizing this doesn’t take away Dean’s fear, but it softens the edges a little bit to know he’s not alone. “Thanks, Cas,” he smiles tentatively, turning back onto his side and leaning in to kiss him.

They part for each other, tongues slow but steadily exploring. Before he really has time to think about what he’s doing, Dean is pushing Cas back against the mattress, running his hands up Cas’s biceps, lining up against him. Cas runs his hands down to the small of Dean’s back, lifting his shirt enough to get his palms skin-to-skin on Dean’s waist.

It takes the sensation of Cas pushing back, pushing his hips up against Dean’s before Dean actually realizes it’s _probably_ not the best time. “Shit,” he breathes, pulling back and resting his head against Cas’s shoulder. “Sorry. You’re…”

“Don’t worry, I forgot, too,” Cas laughs, the vibration of his laughter reassuring against Dean’s chest. Dean rolls off him completely and lies on his side just to look at Cas, smiling. “It’s okay. We’re both okay. Relax.”

And somehow, lying here with Cas next to him, Cas really _okay_ , Dean is able to.

Well, eventually, anyway.


End file.
